Old, Old Lady by the Boat Works

Old, old lady in black stockings
And a warm sweater
Sitting in the hot summer sun

We wash by you with our broken motor
And you see us no more than
The blur of the newspaper
The fuzzy hum of the radio
You never got the hang of the television dial
And thought it wasn’t much good anyway,

We stifle our anger at the lousy motor
That’s holding us back from a fine run on the river

At the motor mechanic methodically checking the catalogue
At the three-day delay that eats our vacation like a waning moon

Old, old lady in black stockings
And a warm sweater
Sitting in the hot summer sun
We pass yearly and wonder if

[Undated poem by Virginia McKinnon Mann. I may find the rest of it later. This was undoubtedly a first draft, scrawled by hand on yellow paper. The poem lacks the meticulous grammar of Virginia’s polished pieces. Nevertheless, it is evocative.]